


Like Rabbits

by 72reasons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A sort of proposal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Sex, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Jealous John, John's is big, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Penis Measuring, Positively No Mary, Possessive Sex, Rimming, S3 fix it of sorts, SO MUCH FLUFF, Set after S3:E1 but there is no Mary, Shower Sex, So is Sherlock's, Some angst, Switching, The whole thing is just sex, They are so in love, Topping from the Bottom, alternating pov, sock index
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10510038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/72reasons/pseuds/72reasons
Summary: Our favorite idiots in love, John and Sherlock, shag like rabbits on every surface of 221B.





	1. The Confession

**Author's Note:**

> In the Dec. 2016 Tumblr Q&A with Mofftiss, Mr. Gahtiss said that he wasn’t opposed to having a Sherlock Holmes and a Doctor Watson romantically linked, but it wasn’t the story that they were telling. Well, my response was: "My Sherlock Holmes and my Doctor Watson fuck like bunnies on every surface of 221B." I got an immediate message from a new follower who told me that they were devastated by Mark’s answer, but that my response had made them laugh. This is the story created by one woman (That’s me, by the way. Hello.) as she fought back against TPTB.
> 
> It's sex and fluff set sometime at the beginning of S3 but there's no Mary, positively no Mary.

“I thought it was all over. I thought it was the end. Again!”

Sherlock simply sat on the sofa where he’d been directed to sit by his very agitated, very serious best friend.

John paced on the other side of the coffee table, both hands clenching into fists and unclenching to stretch tense fingers. He spoke softly, just above a whisper. Sherlock knew that was a sign that John was extremely angry and anything he might say would probably make it worse.

“I thought...the only thing I could...I only thought of…” John stopped pacing and blew out a long breath. He walked towards Sherlock and sat down on the coffee table with a thump.

Their knees touched. Sherlock wasn’t used to John being this close into his personal space, and leaned back against the sofa cushion. But John didn’t look angry, he looked pensive, almost frightened. And a bit sad. He didn’t look away though, which Sherlock took as a good sign. He didn’t want to upset John. He loved John. He needed John. He just needed for John to forgive him so they could get back to normal.

They each took a deep breath and spoke at the exact same time.

John said, “I love you.” And Sherlock said, “I’m sorry.” 

Again at the same time, with eyes wide, they each said, “What?”

Panic rippled through Sherlock’s body, jolting him upright. John jumped up and started pacing again.

“When you were on the floor, being strangled by that... _thing_ ,” John spat the last word venomously, “I thought, I felt...I thought that you were dead again and I hadn’t told you that I love you.” John stopped pacing and stared at Sherlock. His face was open and calm, almost defiant. 

Sherlock had been waiting years to hear those words. He had given up hope, simply contented to have John back in his life after two long and lonely years without him. But this was finally happening, and Sherlock needed to make sure John knew it was welcome and wanted.

Sherlock stood up, walked over to John and grabbed him with both hands, pulling him into a tight embrace. He breathed in the scent of John just behind his ear, at his hairline. Sherlock inhaled and exhaled with a huff, tilting his head so he could press his lips to John’s earlobe. He was so warm, his ears so soft. Sherlock couldn’t help the tiny movements of his head trying to get his mouth and nose closer to John’s skin.

His breathing was rapidly becoming out of control. He realized he was panting and that not only was his head moving in small back and forth motions, but he had begun to undulate his whole body against John’s smaller frame. His hips moved in tiny uncontrollable thrusts and he hoped that John would understand.

“John,” he said, voice completely broken and desperate.

It was then he realized that John was holding him just as tightly, nose buried in his shirt collar and small hands gripping his shoulder blades. John’s breathing was quick and shallow. “Sherlock,” he said, incredibly soft, “Sherlock.”

John pulled his head away and moved his hands up to Sherlock’s head, guiding him back a little bit so that they could look at each other.

Sherlock looked into the face of the man he loved so much. The face of the man he would die and kill for a thousand times over. What he saw in John’s eyes was happiness and relief.

“John, I need to - “ Before Sherlock could finish the sentence his brain had begun, his lips surged down to take John’s in a hard kiss.

Sherlock licked along John’s bottom lip, biting and sucking in turn. John returned the kiss with the same not-so-gentle passion. Each of them had raised their hands to grip each other’s face.

After several moments of wet and delicious kissing, the corners of John’s mouth quirked up, exposing his teeth in a huge smile. Sherlock pulled away to smile back. The giggling started and since they couldn’t really kiss through the excited laughing, they simply went back to the tight hug they’d started with. They rocked back and forth until the laughter turned into something softer and they could look at one another again.

Sherlock held John’s face in his hands and placed a very soft kiss on his upper lip, then pulled back to catalog every beautiful feature in John’s expression. His half-lidded eyes, his relaxed forehead, his slackened jaw, and his barely parted lips curling up just slightly at each corner.

“What are we going to do now?” Sherlock asked, a rare admission of bewilderment.

John’s face turned very serious. “Now we’re going to shag like rabbits on every surface of 221B.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, please come by and say hello.


	2. The Sofa

Sherlock’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. He blinked at John, whose face remained earnest with eyebrows slightly raised. He loved saying things to shock Sherlock.

“All right. That sounds...that would be good. Yes.”

John laughed a sound more like a few huffs of air. He reached up to place his hands on Sherlock’s face again, this time bending his fingers slightly so he could feel a few dark curls between his fingers. He looked up into the stunning blue green eyes of the man he loved so much and said, “All right. You asked for it.”

He pulled Sherlock down hard until their lips crashed together. John immediately moved one hand so he could feel with his thumb his lips on Sherlock’s. Over and over, he ran his thumb over Sherlock’s lips, dipping just the tip in between so he could feel the hot and soft texture of their tongues licking at each other.

Sherlock moved one hand to the back of his head to press their lips more firmly together. John noticed that Sherlock had slightly bent his knees so that they were a similar height. The other hand moved down to cup John’s arse. With one squeeze of each hand, Sherlock pulled them closer. John could immediately feel Sherlock’s erection pressing into his as their hips aligned.

John gasped, breaking their kiss and said, “Oh god.” The feel of Sherlock in his arms, breathing hard, cock pressing into his with tiny thrusts was too much for John. “Please, Sherlock, please.” he said, very quietly. He pulled away from their kiss. “This is going to be over in two minutes,” he said with a small smile.

“The sofa.”

“Yes,” he agreed, and pushed Sherlock down to sitting. John kept one hand on Sherlock’s face and adjusted his erection in his trousers with the other.

Sherlock tracked the movement of his hand with keen interest. John decided to just leave his hand there lightly resting over the bulge.

Sherlock looked up at him with an expression John had never seen. His eyes were dark and his lips were parted and wet. His brows were slightly pushed up in the middle, not quite a furrow, but enough to look like he was pleading for something. He looked devastating. Devastated.

John placed both of his hands over Sherlock’s face, unable to stop himself from tracing his thumb over his lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

Sherlock inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. “John,” he whispered. He swallowed and when he opened his eyes, they were just a tiny bit shinier. “No one has ever said that to me.”

“Impossible,” John said, smiling.

Sherlock smiled back. He reached up to John’s biceps and pulled him down on top of him. He grabbed John’s head in his large hands, guiding him down for another kiss. The kiss was every bit as passionate as the last. Sherlock’s tongue probed in and out of his mouth. His own tried to keep up. John bit and sucked on Sherlock’s gorgeous full lips as often as he could manage. Their hands roamed everywhere until Sherlock found his arse. Sherlock’s legs were spread wide and he’d maneuvered John between them, grinding their erections together once more. John realized, yet again, that he was close. He should have known Sherlock would be impatient, even in this.

“Sherl -” he tried to say, but large hands to the back of his head made sure he could not lift his lips away to finish the second syllable.

John pulled his head back a bit more forcefully, and moved his arms up to bracket Sherlock’s head. He wound his fingers into Sherlock’s soft curls and said, “I want to feel all of you.”

Sherlock thrust his hips up into John’s and said, “Feel more than this? I’m afraid it doesn’t get bigger, John.”

“Mmm...feels plenty big," John laughed and thrust his hips down. “I meant take off your clothes.”

Sherlock quickly lifted his head up to place a short kiss on John’s lips, then in one move pushed John off of him and jumped up. He was jumping out of his shoes as he undid his shirt’s buttons. Before John could roll over to get to standing, so he too could disrobe, Sherlock was standing in their lounge naked and hard and…impatient.

“Come on, John!” Sherlock reached for John’s belt and yanked. John almost fell over with the force of it and the imbalance caused by him trying to remove his shoes at that very moment.

“Hang on. Jesus!”

Here they were in the middle of 221B, finally getting naked, and he was yelling. Only Sherlock could provoke feelings of arousal and exasperation simultaneously. The git was so frantic he was going to push them into the edge of the coffee table and give one of them a concussion.

John placed his hand in the center of Sherlock’s heaving chest and straightened his arm. It was a classic rugby block. “Stop.”

Sherlock stood with chest heaving, glaring at John’s trousers.

“Stay.”

The glare, and a frown, were directed this time at John’s face.

As John continued to unbutton his shirt, he said, “This is going to take 30 seconds. You can wait.”

Sherlock crossed his arms over his pale chest and cocked one hip impatiently. He wasn’t tapping his toe, but John suspected that was going to start any second. John looked at him head to toe. The petulant look he wore was a hilarious contrast to his long, hard cock jutting from a neat nest of dark curls at what seemed to be a perfect 90 degree angle. John smiled at him, but instead of laughing at the ridiculous man, he said, “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Appearing disarmed, Sherlock dropped his hands and stood with his weight equally balanced on each leg. His face was open and pleading, “It’s been 37 seconds.”

John pushed his pants down his legs and kicked them away. He stood before him, one meter between them. Sherlock’s eyes surveyed John's body slowly, more slowly than he expected given his preceding restlessness.

When the inspection was over, Sherlock lunged for John, grabbing at the back of his head and his arse again to pull him close into a searing kiss. He was hot, so hot. His chest heaved with loud breaths as his hands roamed all over John’s body. Their cocks rubbed along hip bones and lower abdomens, but when they came into contact, both of them gasped throwing their heads back in sync.

“God, Sherlock.”

“John,” he moaned.

“Sofa.”

For the second time Sherlock sat and pulled John down on top of him. The feeling of Sherlock’s scorching skin on his was more stimulating than any sensation he had felt in a very long time. He hadn’t felt like this since he was a hormonal teenager. He fuzzily wondered if his refractory period could be re-set to match that time in his life.

John kissed him deeply while pinching one nipple between his fingers. Sherlock gasped at the sharp tweak and moaned loudly. John did it again, clearly Sherlock loved it.

Sherlock squeezed his arse, thrusting up against John’s erection. John tried to lift up to get a hand around them, but Sherlock was lightning quick and as soon as there was any room, he grasped both of their cocks together and started tugging them both with swift, short strokes. Their cocks were almost the same length, a centimeter or two above average. But John noted with satisfaction that he was thicker than Sherlock.

The feel of Sherlock’s long fingers and the underside of his gorgeous arrow-straight cock against his own was life-changing. Deep, wet kisses and the taste of Sherlock was intoxicating. He knew he was addicted for life and could never be changed. The thought brought John closer to impending orgasm.

He gasped for breath and said, “I’m close.”

Sherlock said, “Let go.”

“You feel so good, you’re so gorgeous.”

Sherlock’s hand flew over their erections in a blur.

“John,” he panted. “I’m - .”

“I’m - .“

Sherlock came first, but only a few seconds before John toppled over the edge into pulsing white hot ecstasy. Their muscles quivered and shook with intense pleasure. 

John realized that their mouths were plastered together in a sloppy kiss and he hadn’t opened his eyes in many minutes. Even as the aftershocks of a truly intense orgasm were waning, he promised himself to watch next time as Sherlock, his love, came under his hands, or mouth, or...?

John opened his eyes to find Sherlock, hand still holding their mostly hard cocks, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes still closed. John lifted his body up with the intention of heading to the loo to get something to clean them up. Sherlock did not agree with this plan and quickly hugged John tightly to him, apparently not caring about the mess between them. John got his arms under Sherlock’s shoulders and squeezed right back.

They laid together like that for a long time, weakly thrusting against each other or squeezing flesh with seeking hands whenever the urge struck. John felt completely at home, completely comfortable, naked on the sofa with Sherlock and the evidence of their pleasure cementing their bellies together. It was so much like home. So familiar. He wondered how it could be so comfortable. He imagined it was because Sherlock was his, and had been his for years. Now it was reciprocated. Now it was started. Now it was forever more.

Sherlock must have realized he was close to dozing off and slapped his arse sharply twice. He said, “To bed.”

John sleepily pulled himself to sit between Sherlock’s spread legs. John couldn’t help but run gentle hands across Sherlock’s chest down across his hips and thighs to rest on his knees. John looked at his gorgeous love, a relaxed and sweet grin on his face.

“C’mon, love.”

It was late, they needed sleep.

John stood up and pulled Sherlock up by one hand to stand beside him. In the loo, they cleaned up a bit then tumbled into Sherlock’s bed. John thought again about how right this all felt. He was perfectly at home under Sherlock’s duvet and on his pillows. John was on his back and extended an arm towards Sherlock. He must have understood because he snuggled up along John’s left side and tucked his head into the crook of John’s arm.

John rested his hand in Sherlock’s hair and said, “G’night, love.”

Sherlock lifted his head to look at John, smiled and said, “Good night, John.”

John huffed a laugh and pulled Sherlock’s head down once more. John couldn’t imagine being happier. Sherlock was safe, he was there, he was warm. He was fucking gorgeous and wanted him. He wanted him. John couldn’t think of anything more perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, please come by and say hello.


	3. John's Chair

Naked. He was not wearing clothes.

He had slept. It had been a long time since he woke with his eyes stuck together and his throat dry. Had he been snoring? He had the vague recollection of his own snorts waking him.

He opened his eyes, which went directly to the ceiling where a small crack and water spot had settled in years ago. Focus on that fissure and stain had helped Sherlock to ground himself upon waking for all of the time he’d lived at Baker Street. When he was away for two years, if he was in any one place for more than a few hours, he would find an imperfection on the ceiling. It was comforting that no matter where he was or how long he’d been gone. He could find a paint chip, a hairline crack, a smudge of paint, once a spatter of blood, that would remind him of home. Of Baker Street. Of John.

John.

Sherlock’s eyes went wide. _John!_

He remembered the taste of John’s tongue in his mouth. The smell of John’s arousal penetrating his nostrils, molecules tripping electricity along axons towards the olfactory regions in his brain. The information received incurably changed the way he would process the individual scents of latex, tea, salt, gun oil, Sainsbury’s shampoo for men. A mix uniquely associated with his John.

“John!” his persistent erection said, as loudly as it could. It was more of a twitch than an exclamation, but no less raucous to Sherlock at that moment.

He climbed out of bed and grabbed his third best dressing gown, quickly scanning the room. John had been in his bed. He had slept there all night given the state of the pillow and sheets. He had left the room between 30 and 90 minutes prior, given the chilliness of the sheets. He hadn’t put his clothes back on. Was he naked somewhere in the flat? He would not be able to deduce it, he’d need to see for himself.

He wrenched open the bedroom door and walked down the hallway to locate his friend.

John was sitting in his chair, head facing away from Sherlock. He was reading BBC news on his laptop and was seemingly unaware of Sherlock padding towards him. As Sherlock got close, however, he could see John’s lips pursed ever so slightly, and his eyes focused not on the laptop screen, but to the side of the room from which Sherlock was approaching.

“John.”

Lips quirked just slightly higher but his head didn’t move. “Hmm?”

“John!” Sherlock said, grabbing John’s laptop and placing it on the side table. John didn’t have a second to respond before Sherlock leapt into his lap, spreading his legs wide to straddle his hips.

“Whoa!” John said, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked as John’s gaze drifted down and his eyes went wide. Sherlock’s dressing gown might have opened a bit upon impact, revealing his nudity.

John smiled and said, “Good morning to me.” He placed one warm hand around Sherlock’s demanding erection, and used the other hand to guide Sherlock’s head so he could kiss his resulting gasping moan.

Immediately their tongues twisted and slid across each other. Sherlock wriggled and moaned wantonly. John made him feel needy and desperate. And he knew exactly what he was doing, how to touch Sherlock to tease out the most delicious pleasurable sensations all over his skin, from his nerve endings on his skin to a place deep within his center.

Sherlock writhed and bounced. His energy was much higher than the night before when emotions were running high and the end of the case was upon them.

This morning he emitted small groans and high-pitched mewling noises that seemed to both amuse and arouse John. He kept squeezing Sherlock to him with one hand on the back of his neck or between his shoulder blades, hand never leaving Sherlock’s cock. John’s erection was flattened by Sherlock grinding his arse cheeks down onto it. Sherlock’s hands alternated from roaming over John’s bare chest where his dressing gown had come open and pulling John’s hair.

“John. John. John!” he chanted, panting into John’s open mouth. He alternated between thrusting up into John's fist and bouncing his arse cheeks on John's cock.

“Sweetheart, wait - “

But Sherlock couldn’t wait, and calling him “sweetheart” was not helping. He couldn’t seem to control his body. It was a pleasure-seeking entity acting without his authority. Sherlock had never in his life been this excited by a few kisses and thrusts.

“Sherlock!”

Finally, he came back to himself, if only slightly. He became aware enough to notice two things. First, John had a raging hard-on (for him, he noted with a huge thrill). Second, John’s hard-on was covered in fabric.

“John, you have to let me,” he said, as he scooted back and clawed at the drawstring of John’s pajama bottoms.

“Here, it’s elastic. That string doesn’t matter.”

John hadn’t even finished his sentence before Sherlock had pulled the elastic waistband away and over John’s gorgeous thick cock.

“Oh, John…” Sherlock murmured and placed a hand on it. He looked at it and his eyes went wide with realization. He went very still and repeated, reverently, “John.”

John leaned up and kissed his perfect pout. “What is it?”

Sherlock went from frozen (enraptured, really) to vibrating with excitement again. “John, I need to watch next time. I need to feel it go from soft to hard. I need to see how it fills out, how it pulls away from your body. Will you let me measure it? I need to estimate its density. Estimate the volume of blood required to fill it. Oh! We can try different stimuli and determine the time needed to go from soft to hard. Please, John, please say I can watch next time.” After this long and rapid speech, he simply looked into John’s wide eyes.

John seemed shocked into stillness, which lasted about three seconds. He surged up and grabbed Sherlock’s face, crashing their lips together. His chest was heaving as he panted out, “Yes...oh, god, yes...I want that.”

Sherlock moaned in response, feeling elated that John understood him. John wanted to be observed. John had always loved Sherlock’s eyes on him, and Sherlock was so grateful that it would extend to sex.

While they kissed, their erections brushed together, teasing, not enough to cause pressure to build. But Sherlock was impatient and turned on and wanted to watch John come right here, right now in his chair. The chair that had seen John blogging and reading and drinking endless cups of tea. The chair that spent nearly two years empty was now going to be a witness to one of the most thrilling events of Sherlock’s life thus far.

“Now. Mine,” Sherlock moaned, “Please.” Sherlock had never been so eager and rarely plead for anything.

John grabbed Sherlock’s hand, which was currently pulling his hair, and moved it to his erection.

“Hold them both,” John said, as he thrust up and curled Sherlock’s large palm and fingers around them. Their cocks were both thick, but his hands were large. They were so turned on that Sherlock knew it would be a matter of minutes, if not seconds that this would be over.

Impatient, he sought their combined pleasure. Foreskins pulled back, cock heads shiny, and they were ready. Never one to delay gratification, he stroked firm and fast, concentrating on the heads of their cocks as he watched them slide alongside each other and under his hand.

“Oh fuck, yes.”

“God, John.”

“Mmmmm….”

Sherlock was so close.

John had his hands around Sherlock’s hips, gripping, pushing, pulling, helping their rhythm. He thrust up into Sherlock’s fist closed around them. John said, “You feel so good, I can’t wait to get inside you. Do you want that?”

Sherlock nodded his head enthusiastically.

“You can ride me right here in this chair. Feel every bit of me inside of you. I’m close - oh, god,” he cried out and spilled out between them. Sherlock kept his grip tight and thrust twice more against John’s jumping cock. He stilled, moaned loudly, and came over John’s stomach and chest.

“Oh, you’re gorgeous.”

Sherlock slumped over and buried his face into John’s neck, inhaling the scent of him. He floated blissfully in a gorgeous cocktail of hormones and John.

John moved his hands up from Sherlock’s hips, over his back to rest around his shoulders, gently squeezing him just a bit to tighten their embrace. Their cocks softened against each other. They stayed there for a long time just enjoying the closeness. Sherlock rubbed his lips back and forth across John’s neck for long minutes, sometimes darting his tongue out to lick.

Eventually, Sherlock started squirming again, using his hips to thrust in small circles.

“Sherlock.”

“Mmm?”

“What’re you doing?”

“Rubbing.”

“Feel good?”

“Mmm.”

Sherlock raised himself up slightly so he could look at John. He softly smiled as he took in John’s relaxed expression. His John was so beautiful.

“You are so beautiful.”

“I was thinking the same about you,” Sherlock said softly.

He cradled his large hands around John’s precious skull, feeling his soft grey blond strands slip underneath his sensitive fingers. He really was gorgeous, from his deep blue eyes to his strong square jaw. With the same fond expression, he said “I was also going to ask you when you think you’d be able to go again.”

John barked out a sharp “Ha!” and said, “I should have known…”

“What?” He tried not to pout.

Sherlock was struck with an unfamiliar twinge of self-consciousness. John was the only one who could make him feel unsure but not defensive. No one else ever bothered to criticize or correct him to his face. This was one of John’s many admirable traits that allowed Sherlock to trust him enough to make him his friend. His best friend. Enough to make him fall in love.

John moved his hands to grip Sherlock’s arse cheeks and said, “You’re going to be a handful aren’t you?”.

Sherlock thrust his interested-yet-sated cock against John’s belly, quirked an eyebrow, and said, “More than a handful, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, please come by and say hello.


	4. John's Bed

John found himself down an internet rabbit hole. It started with a story on the BBC news website about one woman’s struggle with the birth control pill. Soon he found himself thoroughly entrenched in articles about menopause. A thought popped into his head, _I’m not going to know anyone intimately that is going to go through this...I’m not going to be with any woman ever again. Just Sherlock. Only Sherlock._

The man himself was lying on the sofa with his hands steepled under his chin. It was a pose that John desperately missed when he’d been dead. Looking at him now, he smiled at how very Sherlock it was.

He wondered if Sherlock knew that John would never give up now that they had finally started to love each other the way John wanted for so long. No matter what happened, John would make sure nothing would come between them ever again. He would make sure they were right, together, happy. He would fight for it. He would die for it.

John was still staring at Sherlock when, without moving, he said, “You should move into my room.”

John’s eyebrows shot upwards. He wanted that, _oh yes_. But it had only been a few days and they hadn’t done much talking about the future.  

“All right.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked over at John. “All right?”

“Were you expecting me to argue?”

His brows knitted together and he scrunched up his nose in one of John’s most favorite expressions his beautiful face could make. John knew he was smiling dopily at his love, but he didn’t care one whit.

“Well,” he nodded once, “Yes.”

“I’m not. I want to. I want to sleep next to you.”

Sherlock’s face softened and he smiled, “I want that too.”

It seemed like there was more to say, but Sherlock looked away and closed his eyes. John got up to make tea, planning to head up to his room to pack some things afterwards.

xxx

John heard Sherlock’s soft, entirely welcomed, footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Hello sweetheart,” he said, somewhat muffled since his head and shoulders were currently crammed underneath his bed. Sherlock wouldn’t be able to see him from the doorway at all.

“John?”

He wriggled back and popped his face up from behind the mattress. He smiled and Sherlock grinned back.

“Your face is red.”

“I was trying to find my Kindle.”

“You never use it.”

“I know, but I was thinking I should try to. Harry spent money on it and it’s just sitting here.” John brandished the Kindle in one hand, using his other to balance himself as he stood up from kneeling next to his bed.

“You can read your inane spy novels with transparent plots and wooden characters in digital form. Welcome to the 21st century.”

“Dick.”

Sherlock smirked. He turned around to rummage through an opened drawer.

“Your socks are not going next to mine.”

John, placed a few sundries from his bedside table drawer in a small box and said, “Why?”

Sherlock lifted a pair of socks, sloppily folded purple and green argyle, between thumb and  forefinger, pinky up, eyebrows crinkled in disdain.

John smiled mildly back at Sherlock’s disgusted expression.

“These are ugly. There is a hole in one of them at the toe. And you don’t know how to fold socks.” He tossed them back in the drawer. John had seen him treat evidence such as shit-covered pants and algae-laden trainers with less revulsion.

John walked over and got right up into Sherlock’s personal space. He was irritated, amused, but most of all, turned on. It seemed like his perpetual physical state while in conversation with his madman. It had been like that for years and years.

John grabbed Sherlock’s wrists and buried his face in his neck. “You’re such a poncy git,” he breathed, then added,”I can always just stay up here.”

“No!” Sherlock’s head snapped back, eyes opened wide in alarm.

John chuckled softly, trailing his hands down Sherlock’s arms. “I’m just winding you up, love, I want to move downstairs.” He smiled softly. “Even if I have to leave my socks up here.”

Sherlock had the good decency to look abashed. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

John pulled him into a tight hug, “All right love, whatever you want.”

Sherlock hugged him back, rubbing up and down his back and shoulders. His hands strayed a little lower until he was squeezing John’s arse and lifting his chin up into a deep kiss. Sometimes Sherlock towered over John, but sometimes he would bend his knees to allow John to take control, be bigger, dominate. He did just that, he bent his knees and bowed his torso somewhat so that their hips could align, but never broke their kiss. John’s arms could reach all the way around Sherlock’s broad shoulders to squeeze and rub and hold him in place. John made small grinding motions pressing his burgeoning erection into Sherlock’s.

Sherlock continued his slow rubbing, up and down John’s back from his arse to the nape of his neck. They were undulating against each other rubbing and squeezing and kissing. It was very heated, very quickly.

John wanted to be horizontal. And naked. Now.

Without breaking their kiss, John pushed Sherlock’s dressing gown off of his shoulders. It fell soundlessly to the floor. Next he tugged at the string at his waistband, undoing the knot. Sherlock had started on John’s jeans, getting them unbuttoned and opened. John pushed Sherlock’s pajama trousers down, noting with delight that he wasn’t wearing pants. Sherlock kicked them off.

John loved the small sounds Sherlock made when they kissed and touched. Small throaty moans, getting louder and deeper as the moments went on.

Sherlock freed John’s erection and pushed his pants and jeans down his thighs. They fell to the floor and John stepped out of them, sweeping them backwards with his foot.

“You feel so good.”

“So do you, you’re gorgeous.”

“You’re brilliant.”

They stood next to John’s bed, kissing in a tight embrace, in only their t-shirts and socks. Sherlock bent his knees slightly and their erections brushed wetly together. There was no friction, just gentle thrusting and graceless bumping.

Sherlock grabbed the hem of John’s t-shirt and pulled it up and off. John returned the favor while Sherlock toed off his socks. He stilled and took John’s face in his huge hands. He looked down at John, naked and open and so incredibly soft, and said, “Why are you still wearing socks?”

John barked out a loud, “Ha!” and added, “Are you really so concerned about that right now?” He punctuated his statement with a hard thrust of his cock into Sherlock’s inner thigh.

Apparently Sherlock wasn’t because he kissed John then, letting their slippery tongues slide against each other. He sucked John’s bottom lip into his mouth, then his tongue. John walked them back towards the bed, still wanting to lie down with Sherlock’s weight on top of him.

Sherlock knew what he wanted and pushed John back on the bed, immediately draping himself over John. Sherlock worked his way down John’s body, kissing neck, clavicle, right pectoral, stopping to pay special attention to John’s sensitive nipple.

“Yes. Fuck. So good.” Shivers of pleasure rippled over John’s skin. Sherlock was very talented with his mouth and he thought he knew where it was headed. Anticipation grew in his belly, making his cock twitch.

Sherlock did not disappoint and moved his body down to burrow his face in his pubic hair. As he nuzzled and groaned he rubbed his nose against John’s shaft. John’s focus was on Sherlock’s lips, willing him to take his cock into that perfect mouth, suckling the head between those perfect lips.

Sherlock licked up the shaft of John’s broad cock and John held his breath in anticipation. Just as Sherlock’s lips reached John’s frenulum, John felt long fingers sliding along his right ankle into his sock, moving it down and off his foot.

“Oh my god,” he moaned as he watched Sherlock suck hard on the tip of his cock. John barely registered Sherlock removing his left sock because of the gorgeous strong suction to his crown. “Sher - oh fuck.”.

Sherlock bobbed down once, taking John fully into his mouth, then hollowed his cheeks and cradled his cock with his tongue as he pulled up and off. Sherlock grinned smugly.

“You just couldn’t leave them on.”

In answer, Sherlock took John’s erection back into his mouth, never breaking eye contact.

“Fuck yes. Fuck.” John placed his hand under Sherlock’s jaw and felt his cock moving in his throat with the tip of his fingers. Sherlock hummed around him and generally seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. “Gorgeous, you’re so gorgeous.” If John could think straight, he would be thinking that Sherlock probably wouldn’t mind him repeating himself.

Sherlock looked down and moved his left hand to stroke firmly in time with his lips, up and down John’s shaft. He was sort of crouched over John’s leg and every few strokes his hot, heavy erection would brush against John’s shin.

“Rub on me.”

Sherlock looked up, knit his brows together slightly, still moving his lips over John’s cock, up and down. 

“Oh god, you - “ John could not finish his sentence, but lifted his shin to press against Sherlock’s shaft, taking care to move slow.

Sherlock closed his eyes and hummed low in his throat, which John felt deliciously. He was not going to last. Sherlock pressed his cock firmly against John’s fuzzy shin. He could feel wetness helping his shaft rub along the soft skin over hard bone.

John panted a string of encouragements, “Yes, yes. Oh god. You’re brilliant. I love you.”

Sherlock bucked and moaned and sped up his movements. He writhed and thrust his lower body, all the while coordinating his mouth and hand to give John the most perfect blow job he’d ever had the good fortune to receive.

“I'm going to...you're making me -”

Sherlock swallowed John all the way down. The best orgasm John had ever felt ripped through his muscles, down to his bones, and over his skin. His stomach muscles contracted and he let out a hoarse yell. Sherlock breathed noisily through his nose, stilling to let John pulse and pulse his release down his throat, all the while thrusting his cock into John’s leg.

John’s vision went fuzzy. He couldn’t think straight for a minute. He didn’t recognize his surroundings or what was happening for a few seconds, but when he came to and realized that Sherlock still had his nose in John’s pubic hair rutting against his leg, he revived enough to haul Sherlock up into a sloppy kiss. He grabbed Sherlock’s erection and fisted it hard and fast, just the way he’d learned Sherlock loved it. He came five seconds later, spilling over John’s hip and cock, kissing John with swollen lips, still tasting of John’s orgasm. John thought it was the hottest thing that had ever happened in the history of hot things.

Sherlock relaxed against him, sprawled half on top, breathing heavy but slower.

“Oh, love. Brilliant. You’re so beautiful. It’s never been like this for me. Ever,” John said, as he petted Sherlock’s head in soft circles.

Sherlock mumbled into his shoulder, “That’s good.”

If John was fishing for a compliment, Sherlock didn’t take the bait. _Typical_.

After several long moments of light touches, soft kisses, and long, sweeping caresses across skin, John kissed Sherlock’s head and whispered, “I can’t wait to be in your bed every night.”

John’s only answer was the soft breath of his one true love, who had quietly fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, please come by and say hello.


	5. Sherlock's Bed

Sherlock woke slowly feeling relaxed and rested. He looked over at John, who was facing him. It was early. John would sleep for a while longer. Sherlock was more than content to simply watch his snoring love.

John’s things were finally downstairs. Sherlock’s not-imminently-necessary things were finally upstairs. It had taken two days because John had to examine every single one of his possessions before deciding what to do with it. John was ridiculously attached to terrible socks, overly-designed jumpers, and at least one pair of hideous shoes. Sherlock had won the argument about the socks, even John could admit that he’d been hanging on to a few pairs for a decade too long. But the shoes? Sherlock couldn’t convince John to get rid of anything from his ‘mod’ phase even though he was unlikely to wear it again. What had finally triggered Sherlock to outright refuse was a pair of brothel creepers made of turquoise suede, red stitching, and a transparent sole.

“What are those?” he had asked.

“Ah, yes,” John smiled, “Doc Marten’s I bought in Edinburgh in 1992. It was a trip with some mates from Uni. We spent the weekend getting pissed. Acting like idiots. Trying to pull.”

Sherlock looked at the shoes and could never, ever picture John wearing them. At least never again.

“You’ll never wear these again, why are you moving them down to my...our...room?”

John smiled as he watched Sherlock stammer over what to call his former bedroom.

“Leave them up here.”

“Okay, gorgeous,” he said, “you’re right. I don’t want to part with them though.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, not quite understanding feeling sentimental over shoes. But then John had kissed him thoroughly and Sherlock didn’t care anymore about socks or shoes or even time itself.

He watched John sleep, feeling so grateful that they had finally gotten to this place, the place he’d been wanting for years. Now that he was licenced to look and touch and taste, he decided that the current best use of his time would be to observe John. _Observe John sleep?_ No. Something much more interesting. _Observe John wake._ Well, one part of him in particular.

After a quick trip to the loo, Sherlock slipped back into bed with John none the wiser. He ducked his head under the duvet and slid down until he was at eye-level with John’s magnificent cock. Sherlock always imagined it was big, but the thickness of it when it was erect was beyond what he suspected. After all, John was a fairly small, slight man.

At the moment it was pleasingly erect due to the REM sleep induced hormonal peak dominating John’s present physiology. Sherlock took in every detail about the small trail of hair leading from his stomach to the trimmed blond hair on his pubis. He memorized the shape of the frenulum, the meandering veins, the seam and pebbled skin of his bollocks, the color of the head compared to the shaft, and the musky clean smell of skin, soap, and cotton.

John’s hand moved down to grasp his own shaft. His small hand closed loosely around it, making it look even larger. He sighed with contentment, as if the confirmation of his intact physical form was deeply satisfying. Sherlock smiled at the humanness - the maleness - of the action.

He knew that at any minute John would wake up and Sherlock would be caught. He didn’t think John would mind though. After all, John knew him. John loved him, and _wasn’t that just the most amazing thing?_

John’s hand opened but stayed rested along his shaft. Sherlock watched as his body started to move and stretch. He heard a loud snore, then heard John’s lips smack. He was waking up and Sherlock stayed exactly where he was and waited.

John’s hand moved up his body and out from the top of the duvet, probably to touch his face, or rub his eyes, or smooth his hair. Of course, Sherlock couldn’t see. He watched as John’s hips moved in minute thrusts as his back arched in a stretch. Sherlock heard him exhale and watched his body still.

“Mmm?”

John was awake.

“Sh’lock?”

“Hello.” He raised his face towards the pillows, expecting to see John’s sleepy expression imminently. John did not disappoint.

He lifted the linens and peered down at Sherlock’s upturned face, blinking. “What’re you doing down there?”

Sherlock smiled, “Looking.”

John smiled back. “Like what you see?”

“Oh, yes.”

Sherlock placed his hands on John’s knees and gently pushed them down, nudging him out of a semi-foetal position. John laid on his side almost straight. His cock, rock hard, jutted out from his hips. Sherlock, on his side too, moved his head so it rested on the mattress right in front of it. He used one hand to gently cup John’s balls. He ran the fingers of his other hand softly up the shaft to circle around the corona slowly.

John moaned and Sherlock looked up at him. John watched with want etched on every feature and lust in his eyes.

“Your fingers…”

Sherlock used his index and middle finger to push John’s cock down against his lower lip. He continued to watch John’s face.

“Oh fuck,” John said from above, watching. He didn’t even blink.

He opened his lips and slowly, so slowly, pushed his tongue forward. The very tip of Sherlock’s tongue gently touched just above John’s slit. John gasped a short breath. Sherlock pushed his tongue forward and down so that it was flat against the slit, gently cupping the very tip of John’s leaking erection.

John panted, “Fuck. Oh my god. Fuck.”

Sherlock, tired of being slow and teasing, tightened his fingers and swirled his tongue around the corona, the frenulum, up and down the shaft. He wanted John absolutely soaked.

“Oh god,” John breathed, “Sher-. Your mouth.”

Sherlock continued to lick up and down and around, adding suction around the corona every few swipes. John breath came faster but he never stopped watching Sherlock. Sherlock, elated by John’s reaction, decided that the time was now.

He pulled off and looked into John’s eyes. In his deepest register, he said, “I want you to fuck me, John.”

John reached down and grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed, dislodging Sherlock’s hand from its position. He closed his eyes and blew out a long breath. When he looked back down at Sherlock, he said, “You can’t say things like that. Jesus.” He smiled weakly.

Sherlock smirked, knowing exactly what almost happened, and said with mock innocence, “Why not?”

“Come up here.” John pulled him up and squeezed him tightly around the ribs, kissing him open-mouthed and wanting. They groaned together as their bodies aligned. They kissed and rocked and thrusted slowly.

Sherlock, on top, broke the kiss to look at John, and asked, “Will you?” Sherlock was already reaching for the lube before John could respond.

Unsurprisingly, John nodded. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted between quick kisses to his lips. Sherlock shoved the lube in the general direction of John’s hand.

John pushed Sherlock off of him and onto his back. He scrambled back to kneel in between Sherlock’s knees. Sherlock bent his knees and opened his legs wide.

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John shook his head slowly, exhaling a long breath, eyes dancing all over Sherlock’s open and willing body. “I can’t believe you want this. That you want me.”

“Of course I do. I always have.”

John’s eyes softened and a small, almost sad, smile played on his lips. “I always have, too.”

Sherlock smiled softly and let all of his love and affection for John show all over his face.  

John flipped open the cap and poured a generous amount of the liquid on his fingers. He prepared him quickly. In a few moments, he was ready. John knew. He lined himself up and pushed slowly into Sherlock’s body. Sherlock threw his head back, gasping for air, feeling the delicious burn and stretch as he felt every centimeter of John’s beautiful cock enter him.

“Oh god, you’re so beautiful. You feel so good. Are you all right?” said John.

“Yes, fuck...yes!”

John, raised up on two strong arms over him, pushed in and out in an easy, slippery, slide. He set up a gorgeous rhythm, neither too fast or too slow. He could feel him shifting his hips to nudge into different places within him. Sherlock knew what he was looking for, and as it turned out, that was what Sherlock was looking for too. How fortuitous. He canted his hips just so until... _Oh!_

“Yes! There!” he cried out, looking into John’s eyes.

Sherlock couldn’t suck enough air into his lungs. The feeling was indescribable. Each nudge to his prostate elicited a full-body spark that he’d never felt before. He’d experimented with prostate stimulation, of course. He knew it was sensitive and fantastic. His only other partner, however, had never found it, nor even tried during the few brief times they’d done this. Feeling a real cock hitting his prostate, John’s cock, attached to John, the man with whom he was desperately in love...well, that was truly life-altering.

Sherlock grabbed his erection and started to move his hand up and down the shaft and over the sensitive head. He stroked fast and hard. John looked down between them at Sherlock’s hand, at his own cock sinking into Sherlock, and said hoarsely, “Can you come?”

At that exact second, Sherlock’s orgasm positively vibrated through his frame, contracting his stomach, leg, and arse muscles in rhythmic twitches as his cock spurted between them. He’d never felt anything like it. John’s thrusts grew shallower, but faster, barely nudging his prostate as his orgasm continued longer than Sherlock expected from past experiences. He heard himself moaning, and shouting, “Oh! Oh! Ah!”

He felt John thrust in one last time, burying himself deep into Sherlock. He let out a long keening cry through gritted teeth as he came into Sherlock’s body. He could feel John’s cock pulse and jump within him, which was glorious, lovely, amazing. He pulled John down on top of him so their chests met.

John immediately buried his face in Sherlock’s neck and started to slowly thrust again. Sherlock gasped. John panted, “Just...let me.” Sherlock held tighter, relishing the feeling of John chasing his own long orgasmic aftershocks. After a moment John stopped moving and let out a long satisfied sigh. Sherlock could feel him smiling against his neck.

Sherlock practically felt the hormones rushing around his body. He felt euphoric. He was struck silly by the situation, of having John’s cock in his arse and his own semen in his hair. It was suddenly the most hilarious thing and he giggled brazenly. He felt John’s own laughter shake their chests together.

It was sort of ridiculous. Ridiculously pure. Absurdly perfect.

John lifted his head up and looked at Sherlock with bright eyes and a dopey grin. “That felt…so - “ he seemed like he was trying to find the right word, “Good.”

Sherlock laughed. “Good?”

John’s face changed from just that side of mirth to just this side of affection. He said, “Amazing. Glorious. Life-altering,”

Sherlock felt the same so he said, “It was perfect, John. I love you.”

John surged up and kissed him and said, “I love you, you gorgeous madman.”

They traded sweet, languid kisses for a long moment.

John shifted his weight and pulled out of Sherlock’s body. Sherlock adjusted to the emptiness quickly as John moved off of the bed to get them a flannel. Sherlock grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

John giggled, kissed his lips, and said, “Sweetheart, you’ve got come in your hair.”

Sherlock laughed, “I’ve had worse.”

John hummed and moved to get up again.

Sherlock held him back with a tight grip on his bicep, and said, “How about a shower?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, check it out!


	6. The Shower

In the end, the lead up to the shower took a bit longer than he thought. He had agreed to it, and Sherlock took that as a green light to pull John back on top of him, not giving a second thought to the mess between them. John gave up. He didn’t really care anyway. Not when Sherlock was humming with satisfaction and tracing his fingers up and down his spine with a feather-light touch that seemed to be lulling him into sleep. They didn’t have anything on today so _why the hell not? Why not stay in bed and snuggle for a while?_

Some indeterminate time later, a large snore woke them both. _Who did that?_

“You snore-snorted and woke me up,” Sherlock said, voice rumbling through John’s rib cage.

“You snore-snorted.”

“No, it was you.”

“Well, I think it was you.”

Sherlock sighed and said, “John.” in the exact tone that someone else would say 'Be reasonable'.

“All right, it was me,” John said, and poked Sherlock in the ribs.

Sherlock snorted.

“Now that’s you laugh-snorting.”

“It tickled,” Sherlock complained. So naturally John did it again until they were giggling and wrestling, each fighting to pin the other. Sherlock flipped them over and pinned John’s wrists over his head with his own large hands. He looked down at John with soft eyes and a big smile.

“Got you.”

John hummed, “Yes. You do.” They stared at each other for a long moment before John said quietly, “I never thought this would happen.”

“What?”

“That you would love me like this.”

Sherlock smiled, released John’s wrists, and rested his hand, almost protectively, on the crown of John’s head. “I’ve loved you for years. I think I loved you as soon as I laid eyes on you.”

John closed his eyes, unable to look into Sherlock’s anymore. He knew he must be wincing. He probably looked like he was in pain. Actually, he was. A vice gripped his chest and his throat was tight. Sherlock rubbed his hand over John’s head, and kissed John’s tense lips. John squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He was going to lose it.

Sherlock kissed John’s lips again. A gentle and silent request to come back, to focus on him.

John blew out a big breath and opened his eyes. Sherlock stared down at him, his beautiful lips pulled at each corner in a tiny smile. “Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked.

A small sob escaped his lips despite his best efforts to keep all of his emotions bottled up. “Sherlock…”

Sherlock, confident and sure, said, “You. You make me happy.”

John closed his eyes, tears streaming freely down his cheeks, said, “I love you. You are everything to me.” He opened his eyes and looked into his gorgeous friend’s shimmering ones. John grabbed his face in both hands roughly and pulled him down into a long, slow, wet, deliberate, meaningful kiss.

After the kiss slowed, they stayed close, not quite touching but staring into each other’s eyes.

“Shower?”

John chuckled, “Yes.”

“Good, I want to touch every centimeter of you.”

xxx

What Sherlock wanted, Sherlock usually got. Sometimes John benefited (greatly) from this.

John thought they’d soap themselves up, maybe tease each other a bit, then get out, dry off, and have some tea and toast. John was wrong.

Sherlock said he wanted to touch every centimeter of John’s skin. Turned out, he wanted to do this with his tongue. His very clever, oh-so-long and dextrous tongue.

Sherlock had once told John that he had a terrible lisp as a child because his tongue was 'too big for my mouth'. John had choked on his tea, then just stood staring at Sherlock’s profile as he looked into his microscope. After several long minutes of wildly inappropriate fantasies about his flatmate’s mouth, John blinked and looked away, not noticing the tiny smirk lingering on Sherlock’s lips.

Even though they’d had outstanding sex not an hour ago, John found himself bent over with his hands on the tile, writhing in pleasure, hard as stone, with Sherlock’s too-big tongue in his arse.

“Sher-...Oh...Sher-” John panted.

“Ahhhmmmmm,” Sherlock hummed, open mouthed between John’s cheeks.

Sherlock’s long fingers were wrapped around John’s hips, thumbs keeping John spread wide for him.

“Fuck. That’s…good. So good.”

John felt Sherlock flatten is tongue and swipe quickly up, and up, and up, and up against his entrance, over and over again. John could feel every taste bud drag along his sensitive flesh. He writhed back and forth thrusting his cock up into nothing. He couldn’t stay still, but Sherlock held onto him tightly. Just as he was going to ask for more, or different, or something...Sherlock right hand moved towards his own lips. Sherlock was sucking on his fingers.

After a moment, John felt a single fingertip breach slowly into his ring of muscle.

“Ah!” he cried out, a bit surprised.

Sherlock left his fingertip just inside and said, “All right?”

“Yeah,” John gasped, “Yes, more.”

Sherlock moved his finger shallowly, in and out. “God, I love doing this to you.” John could hear the smile in his voice.

He moved his head back into place and licked all around his finger and the rim of John’s arsehole. Around and around, while thrusting his finger deeper and deeper into John.

His focus was centered on Sherlock’s finger and tongue around and in his arse and nothing else. It was like he didn’t have a body, his entire being existing for what Sherlock was giving to him. And that was before Sherlock had even touched his prostate…

“OH!” John yelled, when Sherlock’s finger had gone deep enough to graze the edge of the swollen, greedy gland.

Immediately, Sherlock reacted to this by pushing in deeper, swiping his finger along John’s prostate again. All the while, he licked and licked around his fingers.

John was going to die. He’d die from the sensation. He was going to come. He couldn’t come. He didn’t want to come. He wanted to come harder than he’d ever come in his life. Confused. Stimulated beyond...he just moved his body back into Sherlock and away from Sherlock. He whined.

Sherlock seemed to know what he needed. He pulled away and said, “Touch yourself. Pull on your gorgeous cock.” The word ‘cock’ muffled as he dove back in to lick and kiss John’s entrance. He added his middle finger. Longer. Thicker. His wet, long, probing tongue licked around where he was breaching him, making it comfortable, not painful, stimulating, smooth, easy. Sherlock nudged and teased John’s prostate constantly and he had the fleeting, panicked thought that he would have to come right then or he would never be able to come again.

“Sherlock! Oh god!”

John, soaking wet, shaking, but still standing somehow, grabbed his own cock and pulled on it fast and tight.

Sherlock pumped his two fingers inside, feeling John’s prostate with the pads of each finger. He licked John’s entrance and his own fingers, his own saliva making each movement slick.

John thrust up into his fist and backed into Sherlock’s face and fingers for only a few seconds before he was coming. Bracing against the wall with one hand was not enough to stop his forehead from connecting with the tile as his orgasm made his whole body buck and sway. He felt Sherlock stop and press his fingers down slightly, tongue continuing its wet circling. He shuddered, his cock pulsed again and again, while his arse clenched around Sherlock’s fingers as his tongue slowly and almost sweetly licked him through the aftershocks.

John, overwhelmed, dropped unexpectedly to his knees, dislodging Sherlock’s fingers and face.

“Ahhh,” he moaned at the loss of contact.

“John!” Sherlock surged forward and wrapped his arms around John’s waist. John’s chest heaved huge breaths. He could do nothing but sit on his heels, rest his head on the tile, and breathe. Sherlock kissed and kissed over his shoulder and neck, murmuring, “All right? Are you all right?”

John was finally starting to feel aware of his surroundings. His body was limp, though he was gaining some control with every heartbeat. He’d never quite felt so buzzy, like and old telephone dial-tone humming not only in his ears but across his muscles and down his spine.

“Sher...Sherlock...my god.”

Sherlock responded by squeezing him tighter and burying his nose in his neck. John pushed back into his warm body. Both of them jolted when the movement slipped the head of Sherlock’s very hard cock in between John’s arse cheeks. Sherlock moaned and thrust forward slightly, causing his shaft to slide along John’s sensitive flesh.

John moaned and reached back to pull Sherlock’s hips towards him.

“Oh, oh, John…”

“Mmmm,” was the only response John could give.

“I could,” Sherlock babbled and thrust up and down between John’s cheeks, “I could put it in, just a bit, just a little bit, but I won’t, I want to, but not now, but I want to. I want to be...ah...oh!...inside...oh!” Sherlock had nothing more to say as he thrust a few more times and came all over John’s arse and lower back, squeezing him tightly.

John gripped Sherlock to him as he rode out his orgasm and said, “That’s it, love. Beautiful. I love you.”

John loved feeling the warm splash of Sherlock’s come on his skin, marking him. Evidence of pleasure. Of maleness. His knees were starting to hurt and he thought that even though it was morning, maybe he’d like to go back to bed and sleep for a while. No one had ever done what Sherlock had done for him and he just wanted to bask in the memory of it a little while longer.

John gently lifted Sherlock’s forearms away from him, effectively ending the hug. They stood and John turned in his arms to find Sherlock looking at him with sleepy eyes and a little smile.

“You are a genius,” John said.

“Yes.”

“And I don’t remember anything feeling like that ever.”

Sherlock looked pleased.

“You’re amazing.”

“I meant it, I loved doing that to you.”

John pulled him down and right before he kissed him said, “Let’s go back to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, please come by and say hello.


	7. The Kitchen Counter

Sherlock, doing the dishes.

He blinked again and realized what he was seeing. Sherlock had started by cleaning the various beakers and erlenmeyer flasks, but now he was cleaning their actual dishes. He was also humming. And...sort of...dancing.

John noticed the slow hip sways and punctuated little thrusts. How could he not?

Sherlock didn't need earphones to hear music. He was probably playing a whole symphony in his head for his own enjoyment. The dancing was proof he was enjoying it very much.

John gave up trying to read the newspaper and leaned back to watch. Sherlock nodded his head to the silent beat. Every once in awhile, he'd turn to grab a cup or dish from the counter. John could see his profile then. His hair disarrayed, cheekbones high, lips together and slightly smiling.

His gaze swept down the length of his broad back to his arse. Sherlock’s ample bum was always a source of joy for John. If Sherlock would let him, he'd spend hours just squeezing and biting and licking those round cheeks. The way they looked swaying in his thin pajama trousers was almost too much. John wondered if Sherlock would let him do that right now. John adjusted his half hard cock in his own pajama trousers.

John watched until Sherlock was done. The counter was clear. Sherlock grabbed a dish towel and was drying his hands as he turned. He looked a bit surprised to see that John was staring at him, but recovered nonetheless and smiled. He leaned back against the counter and stared back at John.

“You did the dishes.”

Sherlock's eyes swept over John’s whole body. “Yes,” he smirked.

“Thank you.”

“Most of it was my mess anyway.”

“That's never motivated you before.”

“True,” he said, smiling wider. “I might have done them more often if I knew how stimulating it was for you.”

John should have known. Sherlock missed nothing about John's arousal these days.

“You stimulate me. Full stop”

Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. “You stimulate me too.”

John could see that this was true by the obviously growing bulge in his pajamas. John’s urge to have Sherlock in his mouth was sudden and strong enough to propel him to his feet and over to Sherlock. He leaned against Sherlock’s folded arms and placed a few short kisses on his beloved plump lips. He went down to his knees and pulled Sherlock’s pajamas down with him.

“John!” he said, clearly surprised. His hands flew to John’s hair.

John looked straight into his eyes and watched Sherlock watch him slide his lips over the tip of his hardening cock. Sherlock gasped, his hands tightening in John’s hair. He kept his hips still and John moaned because he loved the feeling of Sherlock’s huge hands on his head.

He also loved the feeling of Sherlock plumping on his tongue. In three heartbeats he was hard as steel between John’s lips. He moved one hand to cup Sherlock’s arse. The other slowly pumped up and down Sherlock’s now very hard erection, sometimes straying down to cup or squeeze his balls.

He concentrated strong, wet suction on the head of his cock. Sherlock moaned and gasped when John quickly flicked his tongue back and forth on his frenulum. Sherlock watched him with his eyes half-closed. He increased his pace to the fast rhythm Sherlock prefered. John loved the feeling of fullness, of Sherlock’s cock hitting the back of his throat. He opened up and took him in further. Sherlock inhaled sharply and said, “John!” with his eyes wide.

He wanted to watch Sherlock all the way through his climax. It would be beautiful and John wanted it badly. Sherlock was so beautiful when he was bared and vulnerable, when he was being taken apart.

John’s eyes never strayed from Sherlock’s face.

Within a few short minutes, Sherlock was moaning and stroking John’s hair and jaw. Sherlock looked at John’s lips around his cock, softly murmuring, “John. Oh. John.”

It was time. He wanted it. He hunched down just a bit more, effectively opening his throat. He took Sherlock slightly deeper, creating more suction each time Sherlock’s coronal ridge passed between his lips.

John felt Sherlock’s cock thicken and saw his mouth drop open, gasping. His eyelids fluttered.

Sherlock pulled John’s hair and cried out a quiet, “Gah!” John pushed his head forward to allow Sherlock to come down his throat, watching Sherlock’s gorgeous face frozen in pleasure. He cherished that look. That was his Sherlock, the one no one else ever got to see. No one else would ever see.

John pulled away slightly so that he could swirl his tongue around, and up and down, every centimeter of his cock. He finally lowered his eyes to Sherlock’s cock to lick and kiss and worship it until it softened, and Sherlock’s hands gently pushed through his hair.

He sat back on his heels, resting his hands on Sherlock’s hips and smiled up at him. He hoped he didn’t look as smug as he felt.

“John Watson,” he breathed, “I’ll never get over the sight of you, on your knees, for me.”

“I adore you.”

Sherlock smiled softly, with that open, pleased expression that John came to associate with every quiet moment they shared. “What can I do for you?”

“You can return the favor?”

“Gladly.”

Sherlock helped John stiffly return to standing and kissed him for long moments before taking his hand and leading him to their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, please come by and say hello.


	8. The Desk

“Drinks with Graham and the rest of them turned out to be an excellent idea, John.”

John giggled, high-pitched until it ended with a very abrupt and very loud hiccough.

“Excuse you,” Sherlock said, face stretched in exaggerated horror.

“Just a blip.”

“A blip?”

John nodded, “Just a hick.” He wobbled a bit.

“You make no sense.” Sherlock tried to maintain his normal air of superiority but for some reason he started giggling once he realized what he said. “You make sense. You, as a person, John Watson, are sensible. But…” Sherlock completely lost his train of thought and simply swayed on his feet staring at John.

John was absolutely not listening to him, because he said, “Yes, an excellent idea,” as he plopped into a dining table chair, dislodging some papers, which fluttered to the floor. John folded his arms on the table and plonked his head on top of them. “‘M drunk,” he slurred, turning the word ‘drunk’ into a three syllable word.

Sherlock walked over and patted John's head in agreement.

“‘Another excellent idea.”

“What?”

“Me. I have excellent ideas.”

“What?”

Sherlock bent down and kissed John's hair.

“Hmm,” John hummed.

Sherlock moved over to nuzzle at John's ear. He slowly, sloppily licked at his earlobe, making John squirm in his seat. Sherlock took his time and alternated gentle bites with slow licking and tender kisses. He loved to lavish attention on one area of John's body, so the ear worship continued for long moments. John continued to moan and hum.

“Is my dick hard?”

Sherlock reached down over his shoulder to palm John's crotch.

“Yep.”

“Excellent.” John raised his head and said, “Kiss me with your gorgeous mouth.”

Sherlock obliged. Of course he did. How could he resist such a complimentary request?

They traded wet kisses at an incredibly awkward angle, with Sherlock bending over John’s left shoulder to reach his side-turned face.

Sherlock broke their kiss abruptly by standing up.

“I've just had my best idea yet!” he shouted too loudly, apparently unable to control the volume.

“What?”

“Is that all you can say, John?”

John was practically turned all the way around in the chair trying to see Sherlock. His brows furrowed in drunken confusion. “No. I can say things like ‘sod off’ and and ‘pretty mouth’ and ‘posh princess’ -”

Sherlock stopped him with a hand in his face. “Stop.”

He reached down and pulled John's jumper off in one quick motion.

“Ohhhh...Excellent idea,” John said.

Sherlock hauled John up to standing and turned him around. He knelt to start unbuttoning his jeans. John placed his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders for balance as he helped him out of his shoes, socks, pants, and jeans.

“You look gorgeous on your knees,” John said.

Sherlock smiled and kissed the tip of John’s erection. John gasped and grabbed Sherlock’s head and pulled him toward his groin. A gesture not unwelcome in its boldness, but Sherlock had other ideas.

Sherlock pulled away and stood, removing his jacket and quickly unbuttoning his shirt. John leaned unsteadily back onto the dining room table.

“Yeah, good idea. Take all that off,” John said waving a hand up and down in the air in front of him.

As Sherlock removed his shirt, he tried to remember the location of some of the supplies he would need. It took all of his concentration to tear his eyes from a naked John Watson, with his dopey soft smile, low humming, and unabashed erection. He turned to walk into the kitchen.

“Where’re you goin’?”

Sherlock yelled out, “Stay!” He could hear John grumbling something that sounded like ‘dog’, and then ‘cock’. He’d better hurry. John was always very interested in cocks, especially his and Sherlock’s. But with Sherlock’s out of the room, he had no doubt that John would take his second favorite cock in hand and this might be over very soon with Sherlock’s plans ruined. Sherlock quickly rifled through the drawer, grabbed the two necessary items, and rushed back into the lounge.

Sure enough, John was looking down, watching his hand stroking his erection slowly. Sherlock was relieved he had not sped up, which meant he wasn’t close.

“Stop!” Sherlock shouted, startling John into looking up at him. The look of surprise was quickly replaced with one of salacious intent.

“You weren’t here so I thought I’d have a nice wank thinking of your pretty lips on it, or maybe…hic...between your perfect arse cheeks.” John’s eyes were glassy and unfocused as he got lost in the fantasy.

“John, I was gone forty-two seconds.”

John grinned, “My dick’s hard. You do that to me.”

Sherlock smiled back. “You do that to me too,” he said, gesturing at the bulge in his bespoke trousers. “But not yet, I wanna do the ‘speriment.” He walked over to John placing the lube and a tape measure on the table. “Turn around,” he said as he took John by the shoulders, turned him, and bent him over the dining room table.

John’s squawk of protest turned from “Hey!” to “Wha?” to “Oh fuck!” in the span of half a second. Impressively fast for his level of inebriation.

Sherlock’s eager tongue licked flat wet stripes from John’s perineum to arsehole, over and over again. John had relaxed into his bent position on the table, head cradled in one crooked arm, his other hand reached back to gently run his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.

Sherlock loved doing this to John. No one had ever done it before him and pride swelled within him for helping John to expand his knowledge of how his body could experience physical pleasure.

“Fuck. Mmm...oh god, so good,” John murmured.

Sherlock hummed into John. He changed his tongue movements to swirl and suck and kiss. After a long moment, John was breathing heavily and pushing back into his face. He was lost in the taste and smell and feel of him. His cock strained against the front of his trousers and he kept humming and licking and kissing.

“You’re going to make me - “

It took Sherlock a second to register what John had said. He cursed his fuzzy brain and pulled away to say, “No.”

John whined in protest. “Sherlock, fuck, you can’t just stop. I was right there.”

“The experiment, John. Turn around.”

“Sod that,” he said. He didn’t move except to push his arse higher into the air.

Sherlock took pity on him and put his face where John wanted it. He slowed down his movements a bit. He didn’t want him going off just yet. Just a bit more and then…”Now!”

He stood up, grabbed the tape measure, and whirled John around to face him. He quickly grabbed John’s cock, wrapping the tape around it. His double vision blurred and cleared, blurred and cleared, as he took notes.

“Sherlock, what? The fuck? Are you doing?” He sounded annoyed and slightly sleepy. Sherlock knew he wasn’t really angry.

“You’re biggest when I lick you.”

“Oh. ‘Sperment.”

John stood still, Sherlock continued to measure. He didn’t know why he had this ridiculous pink tape measure. He couldn’t remember where he had gotten it but the increments weren’t metric, they were in inches. Americans were so stubborn.

Once he was done with the various parts of John, their erections were both flagging a little and John was swaying on his feet, blinking slowly.

Sherlock looked at the numbers and couldn’t believe it. He knew John was big, but these numbers were unbelievable.

“John, your cock is enormous.”

John smiled smugly, “Thank you.”

“No, I mean...it’s too…,” Sherlock’s was staring down at John’s cock. He breathed out quietly, like a prayer, “It’s seventeen inches long and twenty inches around.”

John’s brows pulled together in confusion and he frowned. “Huh.”

“Seventeen inches,” Sherlock said, dreamily.

“I don’t think that’s right,” John said, grabbing the tape measure. He looked at it for a long time, blinking and shaking his head as if to clear it. Then he started to chuckle. The chuckles soon turned into giggles, then on to loud snorts and guffaws.

Sherlock was very confused. This was serious. John had a monster cock. Someone at a university or maybe even the government should be informed. Sherlock wondered how that would affect their relationship. Would people be after John now? Would he want to use his cock with other people? Sherlock’s bottom lip projected out in an incipient pout, on its way to full-blown.

John reached for Sherlock’s face, placing a small peck on his lips. He said, “You were using the wrong side. It’s seventeen centimeters long...which really isn’t that long, actually.”

Sherlock looked down at the tape in John’s hand and immediately saw his mistake. Stupid! So stupid! Of course, something seemed way off about those numbers. The Daily Mail was seventeen inches long...John’s cock wasn’t that long. He smiled, a bit embarrassed. “My notes say that it’s twenty and a half inches around at the corona.”

John laughed harder and pulled him down into a proper kiss. After a long snog that left them both breathless and hard, John said, “Love, you’re impossible and fantastic and my arse is wet and warm and I’m so ready for you to bend me over this table and fuck me. Please, later we can talk about how glorious my cock is.”

“Oh god, yes, please.”

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John. He was trying to remove his clothing while keeping their lips together. It wasn’t working well, they kept missing and Sherlock would lick John’s cheek or nostril but eventually he was naked.

“Turn around John.”

John turned and bent over the dining table that doubled as a desk. On the shelf behind the table, an almost empty tube of surgilube was sticking out of the playing card pencil jar. Sherlock grabbed it and returned to stand behind John. He laid his cock right in the cleft of John’s arse and admired how lovely it looked there. He thrusted long and slow watching it rub between John’s arse cheeks. He must have gotten lost in the vision and the feeling because John mumbled, “Tease.” He didn’t sound angry so Sherlock thrust a couple more times before dropping to his knees.

Sherlock wanted inside, but started again with his tongue. Flattened, pointed, sucking, kissing. It didn’t matter, they both loved it all. John wriggled and moaned, reaching back to spread his arse cheeks apart. Sherlock loved John like this, gasping for it.

Sherlock pressed one finger past the ring of muscle, kissing and licking around it, easing its way. Soon he had three fingers slowly pushing in and out of John, continuing to use his tongue and lips. He couldn’t help it, he dropped his other hand to his own cock and started to pump it furiously.

John moaned and said, “Sh...Sher....oh god.”

“Mmmm…”

John writhed and pushed back into Sherlock’s face. “Need you.”

Sherlock almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. He was going to happily come all over the rug with the taste of John on his tongue.

But John’s voice reminded him that John needed to be fucked tonight, apparently. Well, he could do that. He just needed to stop licking and fingering and wanking.

That proved to be harder than Sherlock would have thought. He created and ticked off items in a mental checklist: Stop wanking. Stop licking ( _sigh_ ). Fingering could stay. Add lubricant. Once all of these tasks were completed, it was time for the main event.

Sherlock stood up and slicked his erection with lube. He looked down at John’s eager and ready entrance. He said, “Oh John,” voice deep and desperate from arousal. He pushed the head of his cock slowly into John. In one long, slow motion, he pressed into him fully. He waited for a few seconds to make sure that John was comfortable. John let out a low groan and said, “Yesssssss.”

Permission granted, satisfaction sought. Sherlock draped himself over John’s body, seeking the warmth of John’s back. He reached around to stroke John’s cock with one hand. He reached his other hand up to cradle John’s head on his forearm. John turned his head so they could trade kisses over his shoulder.

“There! Yes. God. Oh god. There. You are so gorgeous. I love you so much. You feel so good. Fuck. So good,” John babbled between kisses. Sherlock adored when John told him when it was good. Sherlock concentrated on John and his pleasure. Steady thrusts in that hit his prostate on every push. Lubed hand stroking John’s cock. Kisses to his cheek, ear, lips, neck. Finally, he said right into John’s ear, in his lowest timbre, “I love you, come for me.”

John shouted, “Oh fuck!” and came in rapid pulsing waves. “Oh, oh, ah, oh god, oh…”

John was very vocal. Sherlock thought he was perfect.

“You’re perfect,” he groaned as he came hard inside of John’s warm, lovely body.

Sherlock draped even further over his back as the shivers of his orgasm waned. John was warm and soft under him, placing small kisses on Sherlock’s forearm where his head still rested.

They stayed like that for a few long minutes. Sherlock nuzzled John’s hair with his lips and nose, sniffing and humming. Satisfied. Happy. Sleepy. Still a bit drunk.

As he pulled out and pulled away, John made a small disappointed sound.

“Let’s go to bed, John,” he said as he stood up stiffly. He ran his hands along John’s back and arse, up then down as John sleepily hummed.

“Help me up.”

Sherlock leaned down and draped himself along John’s back again, sliding his arms under his shoulders. He lifted John up, holding him close against his chest. John stood then lolled his head back against Sherlock’s shoulder.

“You’re good to me.”

He tried, he really, truly tried to be good to John. He turned them both around and started walking towards the bedroom, shuffling their feet so he didn’t have to release his hold on John. John wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t walk, but Sherlock just wanted him close. Wanted to feel his soft cock shifting against John’s sticky cleft.

“You think I have a big cock.”

“You have a gorgeous cock.”

They fell into bed and arranged themselves into a loose snuggle.

“I’m going to show you my gorgeous cock tomorrow.”

“I expect so.”

Sherlock listened as his beautiful, strong beloved’s breathing grew slow and deep and silently thanked the universe that John Watson loved him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, please come by and say hello.


	9. The Foyer

The next day Lestrade called with a case that they just had to take. The D.I. had texted, “Double murder. Eyes removed. Will you come?” His immediate visceral reaction was excitement, adrenaline, the promise of a beautiful mystery he longed to solve. After about fifteen seconds, however, he looked from his phone screen to look at grey-blond hair resting in the crook of his left arm. John was just stirring awake, cock hard against Sherlock’s hip, lips connecting with Sherlock’s pectoral muscle in a sleep-sloppy kiss.

After the initial rush caused by the potential of a new case, Sherlock immediately felt disappointed. Disappointed that he would not be able to linger in bed to run his hands through John’s hair. Or kiss his stubbled jaw. Or feel the soft skin of his stomach against his own. Or stroke his gorgeous thick cock until he came. All of that would have to wait. The work demanded them both.

Both would be nursing slight hangovers, John’s a bit worse than his. They needed tea. Sherlock kissed the top of John’s head and said lowly in his ear, “Case, John.”

John mumbled unhappily, something about “early” and “my cock.”

Sherlock smiled. “We’ll take care of your cock as soon as we can get back. I look forward to it.”

John rolled away but made no move to leave the bed.

Sherlock got up and set about making tea.

xxx

Hours later when the case was solved and it was dark again, they hung their coats downstairs and walked up the seventeen steps towards the lounge.

It was late. The thrum of excitement and arousal was familiar in his blood. All he wanted to do was undress and get into bed with John. At that particular moment, however, John was yelling. Although Sherlock generally found John’s yelling or any display of aggression incredibly sexy, John didn’t usually feel sexy when he was in the midst of such a display. Sherlock sighed.

“Not one, but _three_ different people looking at you. Flirting with you. Clearly flirting, even though I was standing right there! Undressing you with their eyes, Sherlock,” he finished indignantly, as if Sherlock had anything at all to do with it.

“Don’t be an idiot, John,” he said, quite nonchalantly.

John was not actually angry, he could tell.

This was his last thought before he was slammed up against the door.

“John!”

He pinned Sherlock’s arm up behind him with one hand, his other hand gripped the back of his neck tightly. Voice dangerously low, he said into Sherlock’s ear, “I'm not the idiot here.”

Sherlock, despite his position, scoffed. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the thing to do if self-preservation was his primary objective. But when was it ever?

“You...I had to watch that fucking arsehole McGregor...fucking McGregor…,” he stumbled over his words and shook his head, seemingly lost in his anger. He released Sherlock and spun him around, slamming his back against the door. He squeezed his shoulders, holding him in place.

“Ouch, John.”

With that, John was shaken out of his mood. He released him but stayed close. His chest was heaving but he lowered his head and said again, “Sorry.”

Sherlock stood straighter, adjusting his jacket. He looked down at John who was still staring at the floor but still slightly shaking his head. His fists clenched and unclenched.

 _So he really was angry_ , Sherlock thought. He’d seen John jealous before, when that completely ridiculous Bradstreet clapped her hands excitedly and kissed his cheeks after he’d helped her with a mind-numbingly boring case. Really, she was more idiotic than most of them. The evidence was right under her too-tiny, professionally sculpted nose. John had not seen the absurdity and futility of her actions, as apparently Detective Bradstreet is “bloody stacked” with a reputation for “getting a leg over with every warm body at Scotland bloody Yard.” Well, Sherlock didn’t know about all of that. He was not responsible for the behaviour of others, especially ‘fucking’ McGregor.

He only knew that there was never and will never be anyone that he wants to touch other than John Watson. Perhaps he should say something reassuring?

“McGregor is outwardly attractive. I’ll give…”

John’s head snapped up and he snarled, “No, he’s an arsehole, and you’re mine!” He roughly grabbed Sherlock’s head and pulled him down into a rough kiss.

Sherlock’s head swam. John hadn’t let him finish his reassuring thoughts...on second thought, maybe admitting that he thought McGregor was good-looking would not be reassuring at all.  

John kissed him fiercely, directing Sherlock’s head into whatever position he liked. He pinned Sherlock up against the door again with his body. His hot tongue slid roughly along Sherlock’s. Soon after, John began to bite and suck at Sherlock’s top lip. Then his bottom lip, alternating between forceful sucks and determined bites. He knew his lips would be swollen.

Sherlock decided he liked this dominant John and submitted.

John must have detected the shift in him. He pressed into Sherlock even harder, grinding his crotch against him. He used one hand to pull Sherlock’s head over to the side, exposing his neck.

“This is mine,” he said between kisses and soft sucks that had Sherlock’s knees buckling, tingling nerves running the length of his entire body. “This long, gorgeous neck drives me crazy, and it’s mine.”

“Yes, John,” he said, resisting the urge, but just barely, to call him Captain.

John sucked bruises into his neck while he undid Sherlock’s flies. John pulled out Sherlock’s incredibly hard cock and started stroking it roughly and quickly. He gripped Sherlock’s hair tighter with the other hand. It was heaven.

“This is mine too, all mine.”

“Yours, yes, always,” he managed to choke out.

He dared to reach for John’s belt, just resting his hand on the buckle. He didn’t want to anger John, but he wanted to feel him. _Oh_ , how he wanted.

“Go on then,” John said.

Sherlock eagerly unbuckled his belt and opened John’s jeans and reached in for his prize. It did not disappoint. It was hard and hot in Sherlock’s hand. John grunted and moaned when Sherlock stroked his cock, matching the rhythm of John’s hand on his own cock.

The combination of his scalp pain, John’s rough lips sucking at his neck and his warm, small hand expertly working his leaking cock drove most of Sherlock’s brain functions off-line. All he could think of was the building pleasure buzzing through him.

John looked up at him with a fierce look. “I’m serious, Holmes, you are mine. No one touches you but me. This body, your brain, all mine.”

Sherlock bucked his hips into John’s fist. He tightened his fist on John’s cock and moved his hand faster. It was too hard, too fast but neither of them minded. They claimed orgasms from each other right there against the door, moaning loudly, uncaring whether Mrs. Hudson or anyone else could hear.

This was Sherlock submitting. This was John claiming, dominating, marking, bonding, binding Sherlock to him for life. Sherlock was ecstatic to be claimed and bound.

The held onto each other, dragging ragged, rapid breaths in and out.

“You all right?” John asked.

“Yes.”

John pulled away, his face was red as he looked down at the floor, as he tucked himself away first, then Sherlock.

Sherlock could see his brows furrow, lips tighten. He was going to apologize.

For the second time that night he needed to reassure John.

He grabbed John’s shoulders and gathered him close. “Stop.”

John stopped.

“I’ve only ever loved you. Please believe me when I say I have no interest in the people around us who may notice or flirt with me. I dismiss it as soon as it happens.”

John looked up at him, with a slightly disbelieving look on his face, but said, “I know.”

“Of course, I observe the evidence of their attraction. But I don’t care. I only care about you.” He pulled John close to him in a tight embrace. “I’ll only ever love you, John.”

“I’m sorry. I’m an arsehole. Did I hurt you?” John pulled back to look at Sherlock’s face with concern.

“I’m fine. More than fine. I liked it.”

John looked confused, but interested.

“I don’t want you to be angry if it makes you unhappy, but…”

John raised his eyebrows.

“I liked...you in control.”

“Hmm,” hummed John. Sherlock knew that hum. It meant that John thought what Sherlock had said was extremely interesting but he was trying act like it wasn't. Sherlock knew they would be revisiting this topic again.

“You have quite a jealous streak in you. I didn’t realize the extent of it.”

John looked a bit embarrassed. “It’s like, now that we’re together, the creeps are coming out of the woodwork,” he said.

“No, John. You’re just hyper-alert about my physical body right now and you are noticing what happens. Quite often, really.” Sherlock noticed that John frowned and his expression turned stormy again at this. Again, not reassuring. He quickly tried to steer their conversation in the right direction. “It’s only you. Please believe me.”

“I trust you. It’s not your fault, love,” John said and smiled at Sherlock. He pulled their faces close, his face much softer now. “I trust you.”

Sherlock quickly kissed his lips. He said, “Then trust that whatever anyone does or says is ignored and dismissed.” He paused then to lean forward and press his lips to John’s. Slowly he opened his mouth and pressed his tongue against John’s in a passionate tangle of warmth and wetness.

Sherlock’s hands roamed John’s body, one hand settling on John’s arse. He lowered his other hand to cup John’s crotch. He squeezed the bulge through trousers and pants and with a huge grin said, “This is mine.”

John grunted and pressed his hips forward and said, “Yours.”

Sherlock didn’t know if everything was fully resolved but when they undressed and slipped underneath the covers, John kissed him sweetly. He hoped that their possessive declarations closed a door on the doubt. He still worried that doubt was lurking somewhere in the heat and excitement of their budding romance. He promised himself that daily he’d try to reassure John of his love and desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. I love John and Sherlock and I know you do too.


	10. Sherlock's Chair

Sherlock kept a closer eye than usual on John over the next few days. Something about that night in the foyer made John grow distant. He spent more time on his computer and less time hassling Sherlock about eating or the mess in the kitchen.

He wouldn’t meet Sherlock’s eyes. Their kisses didn’t go beyond a quick peck on the lips or cheek. There had been no sex, no longing looks, no teasing banter. Just small sad smiles when he thought Sherlock wasn’t looking.

Sherlock worked on his own projects, trying to keep out of John’s way. He also tried to quietly coax John out of the mood. He used his hands to touch John’s shoulders, squeeze his hands between his own, trail fingers lightly along his nape. Once he lightly pinched his bum as he walked by. John had turned and Sherlock winked at him. John’s slow smile that barely reached his eyes was better than nothing, but he had been hoping for a grin and a declaration of “Prat.”

This had happened once before, after he’d returned. He thought John had forgiven him on that explosive-laden train. But after a few days of quiet, John explained that sometimes the reality of Sherlock being back clashed painfully with his nightmares, which felt very real even over two years later. John tried to explain the maelstrom of feuding emotions. He ended up in Sherlock’s arms sobbing his apology. Sherlock hated that John was hurting and tried his best to be comforting. He didn't think it was his suicide that was responsible for John's current mood, but he couldn't be sure. 

Sherlock made tea. He ordered takeaway. He ate regularly and generally behaved like John’s version of what he thought he liked (not what he actually liked...because what he actually liked was Sherlock manic with glee and a dangerous glint in his eye).

As much as they both detested talking about their feelings, as the days wore on, Sherlock feared that it would be the quickest way to get back to the delicious place that they had been a few days ago. What they had was so new, so exciting, so extremely satisfying. He wanted it back. Now.

“John?”

“Yes.” John’s tone sounded like he would if he was speaking to a client, or Mycroft. There was no intimacy, no private affection in his voice.

“I would like…,” he said tentatively. So tentatively, apparently, that John looked up at him. “...to talk. To you.”

John’s face completely shuttered. His features went slack, blue eyes blinked a few times at him. A mask of indifference. “All right.”

Sherlock walked in short paces back and forth across the lounge, ending each lap near John’s right arm.

He didn’t know exactly how to start. He wasn’t used to talking his way out of situations. His talking usually led them _into_ undesirable situations. He hoped that wouldn’t happen now as he decided to just ask John what was wrong.

He flung himself to his knees in front of John and grabbed both hands in his. John wouldn’t even look at him.

“John, please. What have I done? Tell me so I can fix it,” he said, hearing his own desperate tone and feeling his eyes open wider.

John finally looked at him and said, incredulous, “What have _you_ done?”

Sherlock nodded and said, “Let me fix it. Whatever I did.”

“Sherlock,” he said sternly, “you haven’t done anything wrong.” He flung Sherlock’s hands away, pushed him back by his shoulders, and stood up away from where Sherlock had landed on his bum on the floor in front of his own chair.

Well, now he was really confused. John was angry. He pushed him away, pushed him onto the floor, and rejected his hands. He walked away and now he was the one pacing.

Sherlock blew out a breath, folded his legs to sit cross-legged, then stood without using his hands. He sat back into his own chair, looked at John, and took a breath to speak.

John cut him off before he could say anything, and said, “No. See that right there?” He gestured towards Sherlock. “That right there was not normal. People do not just levitate from the floor to standing, like...like...a goddamned hummingbird.”

_What on earth? A hummingbird?_

“You're graceful, amazing, brilliant. You're stunning, unique, and the most beautiful man - no, the most beautiful thing, of all the beautiful things I've ever seen…” John trailed off. He stood still and looked at Sherlock with the most heart-breakingly sad eyes. “I can't do this.”

Sherlock frowned. “Can't do what?” He asked, dread causing his lungs to cease functioning.

He stood at parade rest and his next words left Sherlock in ruins.

“I think,” he started, but his voice cracked. He began again and said very quietly, “I think i should give you up.”

Panic. An all-encompassing fear rocketed through his system. He needed every ounce of control to stay seated. He said very slowly, very quietly, “That does not sound like something I would agree to.”

John, sad but irritated, practically shouted, “You need better! You deserve a tall, muscled astrophysicist who plays poker and classical guitar. Who spends his free time discovering new species of flower to name after you - “

“What?” Sherlock tried to interrupt but John worked his way up to a blazing fervor.

“ - prepares perfect sashimi. Who can make chocolate croissants. Someone who will paint your portrait and write sonnets about you and sing odes to the beauty of your eyes and...and...your arse! Not me, Sherlock! You need someone better than me!”

John seemed to be finished. He stood still but breathed heavily and Sherlock’s heart broke for him.

 _But he was so stupid!_ He was clearly experiencing some kind of temporary insanity. Someone had been feeding him lies, or misinformation. How could John be under the impression that he was not Sherlock’s ideal man. His ideal mate. He relaxed just a bit as he realized all he needed to do was convince John of that fact.

“John, the other night I told you everything.”

John looked so sad, but at least he seemed like he was going to listen.

“I love only you. I _want_ you. I want you so much. You’re my ideal man, you’re the best partner for me. I don’t want sashimi and classic guitar. I told you, I’m yours.”

“I don’t understand why.”

And wasn’t that the saddest, most heart-rending thing he’d ever heard?

He couldn’t take any more. Not one minute more. He stood and walked to John, pulling him into his arms. John went willingly and weakly put his arms around Sherlock’s waist, while he buried his forehead into his chest.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, John. You must understand. Please,” he begged. He used his index finger to lift John’s chin so he could look into midnight blue eyes. “You are the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. You saved me. You saved me so many times.”

John looked back at him, tension and sadness still tinged his eyes.

“And you love me. That fact astonishes me on a daily basis because although you say I am amazing and brilliant, I am also the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all-around obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. And yet you love me.”

Sherlock smiled at John and kissed his lips softly.

“If someone like me can know that someone like you can love him, then surely you can believe the reverse is true?”

Sherlock searched John’s face and saw that he looked less sad. He even saw the beginnings of a shy smile. He leaned down and kissed John, filling the kiss with desire, love, passion, lust everything he felt for his sometimes befuddled one-and-only love.

“Let me show you how much,” Sherlock said against his lips, pitching his voice low, “How much I want you.”

John groaned and pulled him back down to bite and suck on Sherlock’s lips. This was John’s method to make Sherlock’s lips appear even fuller. John loved his lips and Sherlock happily obliged. He relaxed his mouth and let John take what he wanted. He snuck in a nip or a suck when he could.

Sherlock turned them and started walking them backwards. He held on tight so John didn’t lose his footing. It was only a few steps before Sherlock pushed John down to sit in Sherlock’s chair.

As John looked on with dark eyes, Sherlock slowly unbuttoned his cuffs and started on the main buttons of his shirt. To make sure that his face expressed his accurate feelings he thought over and over again, _I love you, I want you, I only want you, look at you sitting there in my chair, I want to kiss you, I want you inside of me_. He bit his lips as he allowed these thoughts to arouse himself. He could feel his cock stiffen, trapped against his left inner thigh by his trousers.

John’s eyes roamed over his face. Sherlock hoped he could read his mind. His gaze traveled to Sherlock’s bite-swollen lips and he licked his own sympathetically. Then he looked down as Sherlock removed his shirt, finally settling his eyes on Sherlock’s confined cock.

John looked up at him and smiled. A genuine pleased and slightly lascivious grin.

Sherlock knew he had gotten him back.

His shirt dropped off of his shoulders and onto the floor. He moved his hands to his flies, letting one hand rest on the clasp. He used his other hand to rub down the length of his clothed erection, very, very slowly.

John watched. He licked his lips as his hand moved to his own hard cock.

Sherlock stayed that way, just rubbing up and down his length slowly. Watching John. It was torture but he kept his eyes open, half-lidded to maintain eye contact whenever John looked up at him.

“Show me,” said John.

Sherlock smiled and flicked open the clasp of his trousers. He slowly undid the zip and stroked his cock once more. He flexed his glutes and his trousers dropped to the floor, erection springing free.

“No pants."

“Nope.”

Sherlock jumped into his lap. The leather of the chair on his knees and shins was soft, almost as soft as John’s trousers on his thighs and arse. He positioned his arse and ground down against John’s trapped cock. He pushed as hard as he could trying to give John more friction. This had the pleasant side effect of his perineum and balls dragging up and down John’s bulge. He continued to writhe and leaned down to capture John’s mouth in a deep, wet kiss. He explored John's mouth with his tongue. He sucked on his lips and tangled their tongues together, taking control of John's mouth and jaw and skull by holding on firmly to John's face.

John moaned and squirmed beneath him, pressing up into Sherlock. His hands roamed all over Sherlock's back, arse, thighs.

Sherlock pulled back to look at John. With his eyes half-lidded, lips swollen, John said, “Sweetheart…”

“John,” he sighed. Their eyes locked and he said, “I love you.”

John whimpered and pushed up to lock their lips together again. After a few moments of hot, slick kisses, Sherlock pulled back again and looked down at his cock resting on the hem of John’s cardigan.

“I need you out of these clothes now.”

He scrambled back and stood, loving the way John's eyes greedily soaked him in.

He turned to walk towards the bedroom. “Get naked and stay there.”

He couldn't see but he heard the leather squeak as John stood up and started to shed his clothes.

He returned with lube just as John sat back down in Sherlock's chair. He leaned over, put both hands on the back of the chair, and said lowly in John’s ear, “I'm going to show you exactly how much I want you.”

John shivered. He reached for Sherlock to pull him back down on his lap. Sherlock sat on John's thighs and stared at John's erection. He'd never get tired of that, it was simply the most arousing sight he could think of.

Sherlock whispered into the other ear, “I'm going to fuck you now.” John spread his legs wider and hummed.

He watched John's face as he opened the lube and poured some on his long fingers. He reached back and started circling his own entrance, opening himself with practiced ease. He smirked at John's look of confusion.

Sherlock said, “Trust me, you're going to be inside me but I am definitely fucking you.”

John groaned, “God, your voice.”

At that precise moment, Sherlock wrapped his hand around John's incredibly stiff cock and slowly, so slowly, pushed himself down on it.

John's eyes went wide and he gasped, “Sherlock!”

Sherlock continued his slow slide, adjusting to John's ample girth. He loved the initial slow burn, the connection, the exciting feeling of penetration. He bottomed out and raised himself up again, putting more lube on his hand and slicking John's shaft without pulling all the way off.

John hadn't moved. He watched where their bodies were connected and reached out his hand to feel where Sherlock was stretched out around him. They both moaned.

Sherlock sank back down and started to ride John right there in his chair.

Sherlock set the pace very slow at first. Then he increased the tempo so he was bouncing in John's lap. He used his powerful thigh muscles to lift his arse off of John's cock then lower him back down with a slap. The force of the movement had the delicious effect of slapping his frenulum against John's stomach with every bounce.

“Yes, fuck me. Just like that. Ah...you look so...you feel so…” mumbled John, apparently unable to finish at thought.

Sherlock’s favorite though, was when he slowed a bit then rocked back and forth, undulating his hips. He was truly riding him, bucking to and fro. They both moaned the loudest when Sherlock moved backwards and John's cock dragged along his prostate.

He felt powerful, in control. John stayed still and let him do what he wanted. Sherlock leaned forward to wrap his hands around John's skull and kissed him.

“You feel so good.”

Sherlock sat up and leaned back. This was how he wanted to come. His hands on John's thighs, his cock pressing his prostate. John's eyes glazed over and his face slackened with pleasure.

“Touch me.”

John reached down to stroke him. Sherlock writhed back and forth, rolling his hips, as John used his hand in quick, tight strokes.

“Yes, fuck me, yes,” said John, breathless.

Sherlock felt his cock stiffen, his skin growing impossibly tighter, as his orgasm ripped through him. It started at the base of his spine and lit up his prostate and cock. It radiated up to tense his abdominal muscles in violent spasms. He shot all over John's chest and up under his chin.

John said, “Yes, that's it, gorgeous sweetheart,” as he watched the whole thing, gasping for breath.

Sherlock let his head roll back as he took his pleasure. As the spasms waned, his body relaxed and he stilled on John’s cock., still leaning back on John’s thighs and breathing heavily through his mouth.

John started to move. He gripped his hips and thrust hard and steady into Sherlock. He felt heavy and relaxed and loved. He leaned forward, changing the angle and that must have done it for John. Sherlock clung to his shoulders and buried his face in John’s neck, sucking kisses into it. John gritted his teeth and came. Sherlock felt his cock pulsing deep inside of him. He felt proud, animalistic, conquering. “You’re mine,” he said, licking up John’s neck.

As the last spasms were moving John’s body in and around him, he huffed out a sound like, “hah” and wrapped his arm around Sherlock and pulled him closer. They hugged tightly as they weakly moved in a gentle imitation of what they’d been doing five minutes previous.

Slowly Sherlock leaned back and while John was still mostly hard inside of him he said, “John Watson. I adore you” and tried kissing him but John’s smile was too wide.

“I adore you, too. My love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. If you love John and Sherlock, come say hello.


	11. Their Bed

Wrapped up in soft sheets that smelled like them, Sherlock woke with John curled up around him. They’d fallen asleep early after puttering around the flat all day. He hadn’t been bored. He loved watching John, talking to John, kissing John.

Only a little after sunset, John had said, yawning, “I know it’s early but I’m for bed, I think.” He stretched his arms above his head and scrunched his whole face together in a grimace as his spine cracked.

Sherlock wasn’t tired but bed sounded perfect. “Me too.”

John looked slightly surprised and then softly pleased. He walked over to Sherlock and held out his hand. Sherlock took it and they walked into the bedroom. After nightly ablutions, they climbed into bed naked, finding each others’ warm skin. They slotted themselves together and made slow, quiet love, unhurried and blissful.

After quietly sighed orgasms and whispers of “you’re beautiful” and “so are you” and “goodnight,” they slept like the dead.

Now Sherlock could feel John’s morning erection against his sacrum. Morning wood. What a wonderful tradition for the healthy male body. He rocked back against it indulgently, loving the feeling of it anywhere, anytime.

John gripped him tighter and pressed his hips forward, grinding his cock against Sherlock’s back. Sherlock hummed.

“Morning, love,” John rasped.

Sherlock hummed again and then sighed. Perfect. Them. Together. In any way, in any universe, always.

_Always._

Sherlock had loved John for so long. Fear tripped over his nerves whenever he thought of John in danger, or of losing John. He promised himself he would never leave and he would try, as hard as his brain would allow him, to do everything he could to make sure John didn’t leave him. John was everything and he knew he was doomed without him. He wanted to wake up just like this every morning for life.

_Marriage._

The word popped into his thoughts, surprising him. He had never, ever considered it. He’d only been to one wedding, when he was still a teenager. He knew then that no one would ever look at him the way his cousin looked at his betrothed. Too skinny, too tall, sociopathic with a devastatingly sharp tongue, and well on his way to a annihilating drug habit. No, no one would want him like that.

_But what about now?_

He wondered if John would consider it. He was sure it was too soon. It would be a bit not good to bring it up now, but he kept the word tucked in a little gold box on the mantle in his mind palace.

John slowed his movements, just resting against Sherlock’s back again.

Sherlock turned in John’s arms and rested his head on the pillow facing John. John hadn’t opened his eyes but he was smiling a self-satisfied little grin.

Sherlock kissed his nose, cheeks, eyelids, jaw, that little cleft in his chin. John sighed, opened his eyes, and leaned forward to softly kiss Sherlock’s waiting lips.

“All right?”

“Yes, John.”

“I feel like I slept a week. Must have needed it.”

Sherlock hummed a little then kissed John again. They laid together quietly for a long time, sometimes stroking up arms. Sometimes with eyes open, sometimes closed. They were perfectly comfortable, awake, yet in a dream. Love surrounded them. They both felt it in their DNA.

After a while John said, “Do you realize we’ve had sex on nearly every surface of the flat, just like I said?”

“Like rabbits, John.”

They grinned at each other until the smiles turned into soft laughter. Sherlock adored the creases around John’s eyes and the way his lovely lips opened to reveal perfect teeth.

Sherlock said, “But not every surface. We still have the chair by the door, each dining table chair, the kitchen table, the little table and chairs in the kitchen, both flights of stairs, not to mention the floor. There’s lots of floor space, John.”

John chuckled. “I don’t know how I missed all of that. You’re right. None of that seems particularly comfortable,” he said, “Although the kitchen table…” He looked away wistfully and smirked.

Sherlock could only imagine what he was planning. He couldn’t wait.

John shook himself out of whatever lewd fantasy he was having and said, “So what’s on today?”

“Case if we’re lucky. I live in hope,” he sighed. “But probably just a few experiments. Check on the dust in your old room. And Molly gave me a kidney whose unfortunate former owner was an infrequent synthetic cathinone user.”

“All right. I thought I’d rearrange my old room a bit. Make room for a table, maybe. You might like some more space for storing equipment or doing observations. The light is better in there than the kitchen.”

Sherlock marveled at this man who loved him. This man who considered his feelings. Who wanted to make him happy and feel good. John didn’t try to change him, even though they were now...this. He actually wanted Sherlock to be...more Sherlock.

He ran his hands up John’s neck and stared at him for a long time. John’s eyes and lips were soft with affection. Sherlock leaned forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss.

He pulled back so he could look into John’s beautiful eyes. He said, “You are precious to me.”

John’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected sentimentality of his confession. He blinked several times quickly and took a few shaky breaths.

John raised his hand to Sherlock’s neck to gently squeeze his nape. Sherlock smiled softly.

“I’m going to say something serious now,” John said.

Sherlock listened.

”I know it has only been a couple of weeks since we started this…but can I?” He hesitated for a beat before he said, “I will love you until my heart stops. There is nothing that I want more than to spend my life with you. Like this. Do you? Do you think we could do that?”

Sherlock was momentarily stunned. John wasn’t afraid of forever. It wasn’t too soon. Their thoughts were in sync, their feelings mutual, their hopes identical. What a wonderful feeling it was to love and be loved.

“I’m going to say something serious now,” Sherlock said.

John listened.

“Before you I had never been in love. I didn’t need it, I didn’t want it. But I couldn’t help it and I was powerless against it when I met you. I will love you until _my_ heart stops. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so I have reached the logical conclusion…” he paused. He was going to say it. He just needed a moment. He looked into John’s patient, expectant, beautiful eyes.

“Logical.”

“Practical. Important. Inevitable. Sentimental. Yes, all of those things. I need you, John. I want you forever.”

John smiled a huge, indulgent grin. “Let’s get married.”

Sherlock lunged forward. The moment before he crushed his lips to John’s, he whispered, “Let's.”

xxx

Ten years later they were still solving cases, bickering over Sherlock’s recklessness or his miniscule appetite, John’s quick temper or penchant for jealousy, drinking tea, staying up too late. They were also still shagging like rabbits all over 221B, 221C, Scotland Yard, Regent’s Park, and two separate, memorable, very satisfying, occasions at the Diogenes Club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, and for every comment and kudos, they mean so much to me.
> 
> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. I love John and Sherlock and I know you do too.
> 
> Please do follow the link and listen to Lockedinjohnlock’s podfic of this work, thank you!!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Like Rabbits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15521265) by [Lockedinjohnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockedinjohnlock/pseuds/Lockedinjohnlock)




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